


Once Upon A Thanksgiving

by amber_elm



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:44:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2476907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amber_elm/pseuds/amber_elm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Thanksgiving in Storybrooke but can Emma make this holiday be perfect? And why does it mean so much to her? Maybe it takes a pirate to understand why it matters so much and make it all better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kitchen Witches

“Machete’d potatoes?” He peered with trepidation into the glass bowl full of steaming, boiled potatoes.

“Mashed potatoes, Kilian. Mashed.”

“Oh. Well that makes much more sense, love. Because this,” He brandished the metal contraption. “This is no machete. It wouldn’t even make an adequate sword. Maybe a mace or some such…”

“No. It’s a ricer.” She went back to the stove.

“A what? Isn’t rice something else entirely? I swear nothing in this realm makes any sense at all. Just when I think I understand it.”

“Ricer. It’s just...uh… Martha Stewart says it makes the creamiest mashed potatoes.”

“Well who is this Martha, then? A kitchen fairy? A witch?”

Henry snickered at the end of the kitchen counter. He’d been quietly shucking green beans for an intensely agonizing 20 minutes. But he became instantly silent and more focused on his task the moment Emma threw a cold glance his way.

“I guess you could say that. A very famous, kitchen, home styling magic-like person.” She turned back to the stove.

“Problem solved, then. Let’s summon this Martha person and get her working on fixing all this. The feast of thanks is saved and we can all toast to a job well done. I’ll get the rum.”

“No! For the last time. We are doing this. We are having an old fashioned, happy family Thanksgiving if it kills us all.” She threw a spoon into the sink of ever piling dishes and tasting spoons and glared at Hook.

_It was probably going to kill them all._

“Uh Mom?”

“It’s not like I’m asking for a lot here. Just some mashed potatoes, turkey, a little cranberry sauce…”

_Yes. It was definitely going to be the Thanksgiving where everyone died. Curse be damned this was worse._

“Uh, MOM?”

“What Henry? What?” Her tone was screechier than she meant it to be and she was instantly sorry. “Sorry, kid. What did you need?

“Do you smell burning?”

“Burning?! WHAT?! Oh God! Oh No. No. No. NO.”

As Emma wrenched open the oven door she was greeted with plumes of black smoke and the stench of charred turkey.

“I’m no Martha kitchen witch, but that looks rather over done, Swan. And it’s probably dry.” Killian’s voice came from behind her shoulder as she surveyed the blackened bird. It was the light taunting tone he reserved for trying to make her laugh. But it wasn’t working just then.

He smelled musky, spicy, mildly exotic like dark rum but everything else around them had the acrid stench of burnt meat.

“Yeah. It’s over. Kid. Go to Granny’s and spend some time with Regina. She said she’d be there today if I needed her to hang out with you in case I had my hands full. If you see your grandparents tell them I’m sorry.” Wordlessly she brushed path both Henry and Killian.

Slamming her bedroom door she threw herself face first onto her bed and stuck a pillow over the back of her head.

Stupid. This was stupid. She was acting like a child. But for some reason she couldn’t quite stop.

“Emma?” She hadn’t heard him come in but she felt the pirate’s weight sag the bed beside her. His voice was incredibly tentative and uncustomarily soft. It would be kind of appealing to have him say her name like that in her bedroom at just about any other moment than this.

She felt the warmth of his hand as his fingers absently brushed the tendrils of her blonde waves snaking down her back.

“Emma. Love. It’s just a meal. Granted a strange, elaborate ritual feast that seems to involve almost every kind of side dish and utensil this realm has to offer, complete with extreme preparation specificity. But it’s only a meal just the same.”

“I know.” It was hot under the pillow and her voiced sounded muffled. She was being stupid. Why did it hurt so much?

She pulled out her head and turned to look at Killian while she sat up. He began to gently brush back the errant strands of her hair, which with her luck were probably standing on end with static, while he remained gallantly backlit by the diffused light coming through her bedroom curtains. It all made him look a little darker, a little broodier, a little romance novel cover worthy. Perfect.

“It’s just. Just…”

“What, love?”

“Besides Christmas, Thanksgiving is _THE_ meal. _The_ get together.” She dared to meet his eyes in the dimly lit room. “It’s the ultimate expression of family. It’s supposed to be perfect.”

“Ah… I see now. A family feast. The kind of event an orphan might think about a lot in their spare time, perchance? Maybe even dream about from time to time?”

Her chin dropped to her chest like it was suddenly too heavy for her neck to keep holding up.

Damn him. He got it. Like he always got it. He never stopped getting it. Why be surprised now.

Gently, he placed one finger under her chin lifting her focus back to his stormy sea blue eyes.

How could he seem so rough and be so gentle at the same time? He could make her feel so delicate and precious, yet instantly sarcastically toss around the steamiest of dirty innuendos that never failed to hit their mark.

She met his intense gaze. It was a little harder to feel sorry for herself when he looked at her like that.

“Isn’t it possible, Emma, that putting all of your lofty expectations into one meal may just doom that experience before it begins?”

He could feel the pain and disappointment coming off of her in waves. He could feel it all. It was in her face. It was in her eyes. Eyes that were close to spilling their contents down her soft, creamy white cheeks. The forgotten orphan. The loner. The outcast. She was always looking for a home, a place to belong while simultaneously running away in an attempt to keep herself safe from harm.

He felt her sob softly when he pulled her to his chest, letting her head rest on the crook between his neck and shoulder. He could feel the dampness of her tears against his exposed skin.

“Emma. Listen. Love. You are surrounded by people who love you.” She shook trying to keep her sobs silent. “I’ve never met anyone with more loved ones than you. It’s practically the entire town. How many orphans can say that?”


	2. The Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comfort and care. Where could it lead?

They were stretched out casually on her bed, his leather-clad legs lazily crossed at the ankles. Her head was on his chest, under the crook of his shirt-covered hook arm, his leather vest warming under cheek.

Killian was absently playing with her hand, knitting their fingers together and circling his thumb over her skin and palm.

From her vantage point she could see his long leather coat and sheathed cutlass lying across her bright cushioned window bench. Strangely it didn’t look at out of place. It just fit like it had always been there. Her style and his, a touch of dark and light.

It was impossible for her to say how much time had passed since her meltdown. He was warm, distracting. She had been gently lulled by the steady sound of his heartbeat against her ear.

Tentatively she tilted her gaze to look at his face, admiring the relaxed way he seemed mesmerized by her hand.

“You have such delicately beautiful fingers, love.” He opened the palm of his hand against hers, their fingers splayed out finger to finger, thumb to thumb. His were a little rougher and a little larger but they fit together well. “They’re small and fine but striking and strong, much like the rest of you.”

He pressed her palm to his lips and sighed, creating delicious waves of tingles though her hand and arm. Even as he pulled it back the impression of his lips lingered on her palm like a brand. Her knees and thighs felt a little weaker. It was a good thing they weren’t standing up.

“All this time in my bedroom and that’s the only move you make?”

He emanated a deep chuckle from his throat that she felt rumble through his chest. He gently flipped to his side so they were face to face.

_Pillow talk without the preamble? Pity._ It was like he could hear his innuendos in her head at all times.

His fingers laced through her hair and brushed her cheek.

“I don’t generally take advantage of lovely damsels when they are in moments of emotional distress, Emma. I think a little too highly of you to saunter in here bent on conquest rather than to see to your overall well being.” His eyes bright with affection, his fingers traced the edge of her cheek to her chin and then her bottom lip. “I was genuinely worried about you.”

“Thank you. But I am an idiot.”

She shifted her gaze to somewhere just below his eyes because the intensity of those dark-rimmed orbs were more than just a little overwhelming.

She sighed the resigned sigh of the eternally doomed and flipped onto her back to stare at the ceiling.

“I am a gigantic idiot.”

He propped himself up to loom slightly above her. “Don’t retreat backwards, love. Feelings are feelings. You’re allowed to be brooding and difficult sometimes. It’s part of your particular charm.”

He kissed her forehead.

“A little stormy like the sea.”

He kissed the tip of her nose.

“Unpredictable, sometimes choppy.”

He kissed her top lip ever so gently. It twitched.

“Feisty and passionate.”

He kissed her bottom lip and nipped at it slightly with his teeth. Her stomach did this flip flop, whoosh thing reserved for carnival rides or rapidly descending elevators from the 87th floor.

_Was that loud panting her actual breathing? Who turned the thermostat to 150 degrees?_

Her entire being seemed to be straining itself toward him, like magnets or gravity or some other force you try to resist but simply can’t. She’d work on a list if her brain was actually working.

He thrust his fingers into hair, cradling the back of her head. Inches from her face, he looked directly into her eyes, his lips hovering above her mouth.

“But Emma. Oh Emma. You are the most beautiful thing to behold no matter what state you are in.”

Fiercely, he claimed her mouth with this. It was deep, rough, but also soft and tasted like spice, rum and salt. It had promise and lingering questions. It was like taking the first full breath after surfacing from a deep underwater dive. Their mouths moving in tandem, tongues touching, limbs intertwining set her entire body humming. She was grasping fistfuls of his shirt, pulling on the back of his head.

Her soft moans made him quiver, made it hard to pull back. But he did.

They were gasping, chests heaving. She was arching towards him trying to place her lips back on his. He was looking at her mouth but keeping agonizingly just out of reach.

“Sorry, Emma, I didn’t mean ... We have to stop.”

“Wha..? Huh?” Her head fell back on the pillow with a thud as the air left her lungs with an utter whoosh. “Are you kidding me?”

_Had they fallen into an alternate universe? Was there some kind of magical vortex at work? All the blood must have completely rushed away from his brain._

“Emma, love, now is not exactly good timing for this. Sadly.”

His comment was instantly followed by a knock at the bedroom door. He groaned and pressed his forehead to hers while cursing under his breath.

“Killian?”

“Just another moment!” He called over his shoulder.

“What is going on? Killian?!”

“Sorry, Emma.” He heaved himself up clumsily. “You have no idea how sorry I am. But our public awaits.”

“Public? What public?” He stood, straightening his shirt and vest. Out of confusion and a measure of spite she wasn’t sure she would tell him about the clump of hair sticking straight up on the back of his head. He looked down at her.

“Emma. You have to trust me. We need to get out there.” He proffered his hand and helped her up.


	3. The Door Opens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the door opens, what happens next? Is Thanksgiving ruined? Or is something nice about to happen for our favorite orphan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the Kudos so far. Please leave any comments and feedback you wish.

She was standing in a daze in her bedroom while Captain – Killian Jones – Hook straightened her clothes and smoothed down her hair.

_Were they going to give each other styling tips now? Because that level of lower lid liner was going to give her bleeding raccoon eyes._

“There, love, that seems a bit less disheveled. Presentable enough. A little buoyant on the top, perhaps.” He patted her head.

“It’s called sex hair.” _A challenge, a question, an invitation?_

“Uh no, love,” his wide grin was carnivorously wolfish; his clear eyes hooded with heat. She felt a familiar tug in her gut and a rapid acceleration in heart rate when he winked. “I believe we’d be missing an important step for that.”

“Close enough. Look, Killian, are you going to explain to me what’s going on here?”

“No, love. I’m going to show you.” He nudged her toward the door with a gentle push. “If you can’t go completely on faith then trust in your boy. What’s about to happen is as much his idea as mine. Actually probably more Henry’s than mine. But I’ll pillage a little credit for me self.”

“Pirate after all,” he whispered into her ear from behind. Then gently nipped at her earlobe, which completely left her off kilter and made the room spin. “As soon as I open that door, remember to smile if for no other reason than for being grateful for how incredibly sound proof your bedchamber is. I know I am.”

The door opened to a scattering flurry of movement: Snow at the table, fussing with napkins and silverware, Charming at the counter, uncorking bottles of wine and sniffing the corks. Several former dwarves were opening and closing cupboards and drawers and not just kitchen cupboards and drawers. Gold and Belle stood together quietly in a corner by the front door.

Grumpy was seated alone at the table, absently poking at horn of plenty centerpiece Emma didn’t recognize while he muttered forlornly about starvation.

It was a dizzying array of townsfolk bustling through her house.

“Oh there you are, Emma. This gravy of yours is really excellent and these potatoes, a ricer nice touch.” Granny was pouring the last of Emma’s gravy into a gravy boat. “I’ve just added some of mine to make sure we had enough.”

_I own a gravy boat?_

“Mom!” Henry ran over paper accordion turkey decoration in hand. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mom.”

That’s when she saw the rest of the decorations, the balloons and the hand-lettered Thanksgiving banner over the door.

“Nice hair, you two.” Ruby winked as she deposited a steaming bowl of green beans on the table while simultaneously slapping Grumpy’s wayward had as it gingerly approached the bowl.

“Kid, what’s going on here?” Emma could feel the gentle pressure of Hook’s hand on the small of her back urging her to take further steps into the room.

“It’s Operation Thanksgiving, mom.” He grabbed her hand as she stumbled after him in a numb trance. The room was still now, townsfolk and family stood frozen in mid-action like wax figurines. Eyes from all corners were trained on her and Henry; she could feel them burning into her.

_Don’t think about the sex hair. Don’t think about the sex hair. Oh God I have sex hair. It’s a very special Thanksgiving walk of shame._

Suddenly she was being hugged fiercely by Snow. “Oh, Emma. When Henry told us you wanted to celebrate this family holiday we got together to help you make it perfect.”

“I make hundreds of roast turkeys a year. What’s a few more?” Granny sauntered by carrying a dish with mounds of stuffing. “Really I have perfect ovens with perfect timers just for this.”

“You guys all thought I would fail?”

“Emma, what your mother is trying to say is we knew how important this was to you and we all wanted to pitch in to. This is us finding a way for you to let us in to your holiday. Not just to the meal. but to the whole event of it. We want it all to be a family tradition.” David’s hand was warm on her shoulder.

“Yes, Miss Swan. I suggest you char the turkey to a cinder every year. That’ll make a fine family heirloom.” Regina slid herself into a dining chair. “Are we actually going to start this insipid holiday?”

“Amen, sister.” Ruby slapped Grumpy’s hand as he reached for a serving spoon in the stuffing bowl.

Emma was led to the table amidst a blur of faces, fervent pats on the back, smiling nods and errant hugs. They plunked her at the head seat.

There was a whirl of activity again; chairs were pulled out, bowls passed around, wine was poured, plates and cutlery clanked. It was an orchestrated discord, a thunderous torrent of conversation, laughter and the contented sighs of happy diners.

Her plate had magically found a way to pile itself almost as high as the centerpiece but she was stone still in shock watching it all.

“Mom, you’re not eating.”

“Well, mate, she can’t possibly eat all that,” Killian pilfered a turkey leg from her plate and bit into it greedily. “I must admit, Swan this is a feast I could get used to. Quite tasty.”

Regina rolled her eyes in disgust. “If you insist on ignoring your fork could you at least use that ridiculous hook instead of your fingers.”

“Never. I need to keep that clear to fend off the admirers and abscond with the libations.”

“Delightful.”

“I would like to propose a toast,” Charming was standing at the far end of the table, glass in the air. “First, to Henry. Henry thank you for helping us to realize how important this was to Emma and finding us all a way to have a part in this day. And second, to Emma. Emma thank you for embracing us as your family. Every day we feel a little bit closer to you. We’re thankful to be in your life and the part of those events that mean something to you so they can mean something to all of us.”

She relaxed into it then. Watching the faces, feeling the warmth. It was family. It was what she had imagined all those years ago, at the foster homes that didn’t celebrate, or couldn’t, at the makeshift school feasts for underprivileged children that had nowhere to go.

Not since a tiny Rockport diner that she had stumbled into years ago while skip tracing had she seen anything like this. Now here it was. Now it was hers.

She felt Henry’s and Hook’s gazes as she began to eat.

It tasted like home.


	4. After Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dinner is done and the crowd has gone. But what happens now that Emma and Killian are alone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the longest and final chapter. It has some steaminess but I kept it clean enough that I think I can stay under the T rating. Thank you for any and all comments and kudos.

After the crowd had finally dissipated, Emma and Hook had managed to wrangle a sleeping Henry into his bed and beneath the covers.

“The young lad really had his fill.” She felt Killian’s breath on her neck. She was leaning in Henry’s doorway, Killian’s arm was around her waist with his chin lightly perched on her shoulder. She could feel and hear him speaking, smell his sweet spicy scent, feel the faint tickle of his stubble against her ear. She was very aware of that ear and the warmth of Killian’s body behind her. He was keeping a distance, not leaning on her but close enough to feel the heat waft off of him.

“It’s the tryptophan.” Henry curled into his blankets; his innocence in sleep belied his age, making her ache a little for the years she missed. He looked so like Neal when he slept yet there was still a little of her around the upturned mouth. What a gift he was.

“Whatever is trypto… what you said?”

“It’s supposedly the chemical in turkey that makes you sleepy. But maybe it’s just the four helpings he had and the two extra large pieces of pie.”

“Aye. Though I rather think it’s the many sleepless nights the lad had planning to make you happy, love.”

“So you knew about this? All of this, all along?”

“Of course, love. Do you really think I would keep us from enjoying the intimacy of being alone in your bedchamber, with you begging for my affections, if I didn’t think we would be rudely interrupted by the entire town?”

“How much did you have to do with planning all this?”

“Henry talked to me while we were mapping constellations. He said he thought you wanted the family gathering but it might be important to include David and Mary Margaret. But he felt he might be betraying your confidence. I encouraged the lad to speak to your parents. I told him your family has a way of fixing a problem and giving you the support you didn’t even know you needed.”

His arm tightened around her stomach. He felt like he was getting closer and it was getting harder to concentrate on his words.

“Then I agreed to distract you. It just so happens that turning the oven up to 600 degrees with you around is a lot harder than it may seem but it was my last resort to get you out of the kitchen.”

“You sabotaged me?! I didn’t ruin that turkey!?” She swung around intent on arguing but realized instead this put her into an embrace. Now both of Killian’s arms looped around her and while she wasn’t hugging him back just yet she was very aware of being mere inches from his face.

“Your lad and I were getting desperate, love. We worked together to bring this about for you. And no, I’m sure your turkey would have been bloody delicious, Swan. You are an amazing woman who can save an entire town from monsters. Seems to me, cooking a turkey would be well within your grasp.” She stiffened, unsure and he countered. “The point here, love, was we wanted you to realize you don’t have to do all this alone all the time.”

“I wasn’t completely alone. You and Henry were here.” His grasp tightened and she was pulled closer. She put her palms against his chest futilely intent on keeping a hair of distance between them.

“There are a lot of other people around you who also want to help you. Sometimes you have to let them. It’s a way of letting them in. Letting them connect to you.” Killian’s mouth inched closer to hers. “It would be easy to keep you all to myself, love, but I, like Henry, want you to have what you haven’t had much of. A family.” They were breathing into each other’s mouths, sharing air, lips just hovering on the brink.

But at the exact moment she thought the kiss was coming, he stepped back, pulling her with him.

She stumbled forward, realizing he was taking her out of the doorway and pulling Henry’s door shut behind them. She was tantalizingly trapped between a devilishly handsome pirate and Henry’s bedroom door.

“I thought maybe we shouldn’t scar the lad for life,” he whispered. “He’s only just decided he can confide in me and if he woke up while I was ravaging his mother in his doorway, well …”

_Ravaging? Who said there would be ravaging?_

These are all the things she would have clearly articulated aloud but what came out instead was just half of an “R” and an embarrassing squeaking moan as Killian’s mouth forcefully clamped down onto hers with driving insistence.

Her hands were off his chest, tangling into his hair, pulling his mouth impossibly closer. He was crushing her into the doorjamb, pressing against her. His entire body thrust itself into the kiss making it impossible for her concentrate on anything but his warmth, his scent, his taste. When she couldn’t get close enough, she began grabbing at his shirt with her fists pulling at him.

_OK. This could definitely scar Henry for life._

Once again on the precipice, Killian pulled back to arm’s length and held her at bay like she may be toxic. They were both gasping like they’d just run a marathon. She was using the wall for support; Killian’s hands were also thankfully holding her shoulders in place because her knees and thighs were liquid.

“OK. Love. There’s no one here. It’s the end of the night and you have a bedchamber with excellent sound privacy. If this is stopping, you have to tell me now. I don’t know how much longer I can hold back. This is probably the last time I can tear myself away from you.”

“OK.”

“OK?”

“Mmm hmmm.”

“That’s extraordinarily vague, Emma.” He tentatively withdrew his hands. “You know what I mean here, love. For your honor I need a bit more to go on.”

She stood up straighter, limbs still rubbery but began smoothing out her shirt and nodded.

He cocked an eyebrow watching her as she took tentative steps toward the front door. She could feel his eyes burning through her skin as she put her hand on the door knob and looked back at him with a wholly unreadable expression.

“OK. I see, love. That’s probably for the best.” His eyes cast down to hide his disappointment, working on quick recovery of breath and countenance. He’d given her the choice. “It’s been a long day. You wouldn’t want to rush …”

The deadbolt clicked loudly into place. His gaze snapped immediately to her face, a small telltale smirk beginning to play on his lips.

“Emma?” There was hope in the lilt of it.

“Yes?”

“What are you …?”

“What does it look like, sailor?”

He stood frozen in place but a hungry grin was beginning to spread across his chiseled face. “It looks like you locked us in for the night, love.”

_It should be illegal to be that handsome._

She leaned her back against the front door, heart pounding, blood swishing madly in her ears. Her fingers shook a bit as she began to very slowly unbutton her blouse. She concentrated on each button as she spoke, ignoring him, agonizing over not looking as nervous as she felt.

_Open the buttons slowly. Don’t shake._

“You know, Killian, every time I think you’re having trouble figuring out this world, you just go and have an observable breakthrough.” Her voice a little breathy but didn’t wobble at least.

“Do I now?”

Of course he was right there. He could move so quietly. He could be graceful and powerful like a panther, skulking unheard. Only his slightly ragged breathing was giving him away.

His bright eyes raked up her torso where her shirt hung open loosely, still partially tucked into the back of her skirt. A simple bra was visible under the sheer cotton camisole that was edged with the tiniest of lace. Her blouse had a slight shimmer, was filmy enough that she thought the camisole would layer without too much bulk. But now she felt positively naked.

Their eyes locked and she could feel a blush crawling up from her belly covering her in prickling heat.

_Was the room spinning? Was this the flu?_

Without looking down he gently slid the tip of his hook into the waistband of her skirt and inched her forward so they were chest to chest. The cold shock of metal through the sheer material on her torso made her gasp.

His hook arm went to the small of her back. His good hand gently slid into her shirt and sat at the junction of her waist and stomach with a delicate heat. Her stomach fluttered in response. She put her arms around his neck.

“I think you’re sending me a bit of a signal here, love.” He caressed her softly, sliding his fingers slowly across the bottom edge of her undershirt.

“Mmm…” She kept staring at his mouth as it formed his words. “You’ll work it out. I have faith in you.”

She kissed the right corner of his mouth, then the left. He licked his lips. “You’re not actually going to say it, are you?”

“Say what, love?” She parodied his accent badly.

“Say you want me to stay.”

“Need an engraved, gold embossed, hand-delivered invitation do you? What kind of pirate are you?”

“Emma… I just… I just don’t want there to be any regrets or misunderstandings, love.” He pressed her against the door, leaning his forehead against hers. “Not this first time. Well not ever but … ”

For all his desperation in speech, his slightly calloused fingers had still managed to find the smallest patch of bare skin along the waistband of her skirt and were caressing in soft circles as he spoke. It was getting more and more distracting every moment.

“Killian,” She sighed.

_So many rules for a pirate._

“Emma.” He leaned his head to look her directly in the eye.

“Don’t just stay.” She pushed him back and grabbed his hand.

“Love?”

“Don’t just stay. Take me into that soundproof bedchamber of mine and ravage me to within an inch of my life. Then follow me naked out into this very kitchen where we will giggle like teenagers while I introduce you to the joys of picking at cold Thanksgiving leftovers by the light of the fridge. Then take me back into my room and sleep beside me.”

He stopped her from dragging him by his hand across the floor to her room and swooped her up into his arms in one move as she squeaked in surprise.

“OK, love. That’s a very specific request I can completely comply with. There are only two problems with this flawed plan of yours.” He kicked open her door.

“Two?” He placed her gently onto the slightly mussed covers of her bed and she sat up instantly. “What two?”

“First.” He slid his vest off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor and began to step out of his boots. “You seem to think either of us will have the ability to actually walk to the kitchen after I’m done ravaging you.”

“OK” _Same old Hook._ She snorted and kicked off her shoes as he walked over to softly shut her door. “What’s the second?”

Making good on the panther analogy, he climbed up to her from the bottom edge of her bed on his hand (hook) and knees predatorily with the hungriest expression of want she had ever seen on his face. It made her ache in pure physical torment.

Braced on his elbows he hovered above her. His arms and legs were on either side of her. She could feel him all around her but agonizingly he was not quite touching her. He was in the air, rum, spice, leather, musk, Killian.

His nose teasingly brushed the tip of her own.

“And Second, Swan,” His breath hit her lips. “You’re suffering under the delusion that I will ever let you sleep again.”

Then he claimed her mouth as his weight slid down on her and their bodies began to tangle together furiously. Her last coherent thought was why she had ever let it take this long.


End file.
